


Put 'Em Together and What Have You Got

by sabinelagrande



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Cinderella (1950), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A Lot of Jokes About Balls, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fusion, And Clint Is Cinderella, Happy Ending, Humor, Juvenile Humor, M/M, Parody, Phil Coulson the Fairy Godmother, TRY AND STOP ME, That's right, You heard me, stupid puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's Fairy Godmother comes to whisk him away to the ball and into the arms of the princess. Fortunately, he doesn't do a very good job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put 'Em Together and What Have You Got

"Looks like it's you and me, Major," Clint said, running the comb gently through the horse's mane, and Major nuzzled him sympathetically. "You wanna go over the plan one more time?"

Major whinnied in agreement, so Clint put the comb down, walking around to face him straight on. "Okay. Show me your mark," he said, and Major obediently trotted over to the right spot. "Good job. Now, I'm here." Clint walked over to his position. "So you hear somebody coming in from behind you, and what do you do?" Major stamped his foot. "Right. And I look and see if it's Grant. Show me what you do if I give you this signal." Clint put his hand by his side, waggling his fingers, and Major bucked, kicking his back legs out hard. "That's my boy," Clint said, taking Major's face in his hands and pressing his forehead against the horse's. "Do it as hard and as high as you can. And then you take off, and I come chasing you, and we meet up at the river, and we don't come back."

He opened Major's stall, holding out a hand. "C'mon. Time to hit the hay," Clint said, but Major gave him a look. "What? You're tired. Don't act like you're not tired. You've got those big eyes, I can see it when your eyelids droop." Major snorted, but he trotted over to his stall, letting Clint close the door behind him.

Clint sighed, leaning back against the post next to Major's stall. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and resting it on the rough wood. It was gonna screw up his hair, but who cared? It wasn't like he had anybody to impress.

There was a weird sound, kind of like a choir maybe, and Clint frowned; he could feel a cool wind, which didn't make much sense on a hot, still night like this. He wondered if opening his eyes was the best plan, or if he should maybe just let it ride.

"You're going to screw up your hair," a voice said from beside him.

"Jesus Christ!" Clint yelped, jumping away. Where there had been no one, there was a man dressed in long, hooded blue robes; he was glimmering slightly, but as Clint watched, it faded away, like he was becoming more real. He looked like a perfectly normal guy, fairly good-looking, older than Clint- well, back up, perfectly normal except for the part where he materialized out of thin air, sparkled, and carried a wand.

"Don't be afraid," the man said. "I'm here to make all your dreams come true."

"Take a step back, buddy," Clint said, snatching up a pitchfork to defend himself. "Nobody called for a teleporting sugar daddy."

The man looked unamused, like Clint was being difficult, which was pretty brassy for a trespasser staring down the business end of a pitchfork. "Not that kind of dream," he said. "I'm your Fairy Godmother."

Clint frowned in confusion. "No offense, but you're kinda, um-"

"'Godmother' is a gender-neutral job title," the man said patiently, like he'd heard it before.

Lucky poked his head into the stable door, looking curiously at the two of them. "Get 'im, boy," Clint told him, thrusting the pitchfork at the intruder. "Sick 'im." Lucky dutifully ran over, then promptly sniffed the man's robe, examining him closely before sitting down and wagging his tail. The man reached down, scratching between Lucky's ears, and he barked happily. Clint sighed, rolling his eyes. "Some guard dog you are."

"How bad can I be?" the supposed godmother said. "The dog likes me."

"He thinks you have food," Clint said, and Lucky woofed. The man reached into his voluminous sleeve, pulling out a huge piece of steak and offering it to Lucky, who- that traitor- took it gladly. "Okay, on what planet is that fair? You're spoiling my dog."

"I'm a Fairy Godmother," the man said. "Literally all I do is spoil people."

"Do you have, like, a regular name?" Clint asked, because apparently he wasn't getting rid of this guy any time soon. "The Fairy Godmother thing is awkward."

The man looked slightly uncomfortable. "Phil."

Clint raised an eyebrow at him, putting his pitchfork aside. "Phil the Fairy Godmother?"

"I used to go by Phillip, but it got confusing," he said.

Over Phil's shoulder, Clint could see a lantern flicker to life. "Look, if you're bent on staying, keep it down and try to stay out of sight," he said. "You don't want to meet my stepfather. I'm like ninety percent sure he kills people."

"For what?" Phil asked.

"Does it matter?" Clint countered.

"Well, it matters if he killed them in battle, or if he killed them in defense, or-" Phil started.

"No, like, straight up kills them because he feels like it," Clint said. "Almost certain he's got my stepbrother in on it."

Phil took a moment to consider this. "I will certainly keep that in mind."

"They're getting Grant ready for the king's hoedown or whatever, so I think we're fine right now," Clint said. "Just try to keep the glitter to a minimum."

"Actually, the king's ball is exactly why I'm here," Phil said; he glared when Clint started snickering, waiting for him to get it out of his system. "Are you done?"

"Please, continue," Clint said, extending a hand.

"Like I said, tonight, I'm here to make your dreams come true," Phil said. "Now, let's get you ready for the king's-" He eyed Clint. "The king's soirée."

"What?" Clint said, befuddled. "The only plan I had for tonight was pissing on Garrett's tack."

"You're going to do that to a murderer?" Phil asked, looking slightly alarmed.

"If you don't do it on the leather, they never notice," Clint assured him. "I wasn't planning on any balls. Well, not any involving getting dressed up."

Phil ignored that last part. "Well, now you have actual plans," he said. "You're going to go to the ball, meet the princess, and live happily ever after."

Clint scratched the back of his neck. "I'm, uh, not too into princesses."

"Well, the prince is single too," Phil said, after a pause.

"I don't feel like the prince and I have much chance of producing heirs to the throne," Clint said. He looked down at himself. "And I doubt he's into rough trade."

"That's what I'm here for," Phil said. "You'll clean up nice. I've also got your carriage covered." He looked Major over. "Though I'm wondering if a single handsome steed is a better choice. Dashing is a plus." Major snorted derisively; at least somebody had Clint's back.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to any balls," Clint said. "It's really not my speed."

"You are making this much more difficult than it has to be," Phil said, crossing his arms.

"What're you gonna do, force me to go?" Clint said. "That's not very Fairy Godmother of you, I don't think."

"I'm not going to _force_ you," Phil said. "I just think you should do it. It's what's best for you. Don't you want to be royalty? Royalty's great. Good food, wonderful beds. Think of how many people would love that opportunity."

"So you're going to guilt trip me into going," Clint said.

"I'm just making sure you understand your options," Phil said.

"Yeah, I'll pass," Clint said. "Thanks anyway."

"Well, if you insist," Phil said.

They stood there for a moment.

"So are you gonna leave?" Clint prompted.

"That's not how this works," Phil said. "We're on a schedule. You have me and my powers at your disposal for a set amount of time- in this case, until midnight."

"Huh," Clint said. "So I can have anything I want until midnight?"

"No harming anyone else," Phil told him. "No making currency. Anything I create turns back into what it was made out of when your time is up."

"Seems fair enough," Clint said. He looked around the stables. "Hey, do you wanna get out of here? I can't really invite you in, but I know where they hide the booze- though the last time I tried it the mice started talking, so maybe no on that one- and there's this place out in the woods I go and hang out-" He let the sentence trail off, aware he was babbling a little.

Phil looked at him consideringly. "You've never had coffee."

"What the hell is coffee?" Clint asked, puzzled.

\--

"Oh my god, this shit is fucking amazing," Clint said, taking another long sip from the cup Phil had given him, which didn't seem to run out no matter how much Clint drank.

"Slow down," Phil said. "It'll make you jittery."

"Steady as a rock," Clint said, holding up his hand. He peered at it. "Kinda."

Phil pushed his hood back, scrubbing his hand through his short brown hair. It was much cooler here in the forest, in the overgrown ruins that Clint had claimed as his hideout; they were situated on a cliff overlooking the valley, and Clint and Phil sat on a low wall near the edge, taking advantage of the breeze. Clint watched Phil look out across the valley, over the trees, the farms, the castle in the distance where Clint was supposed to be schmoozing at that very moment. The moon had risen, and the light was doing good things for Phil's features, his profile strong against the dark of the sky. He was more attractive than Clint had realized, the color of his robes bringing out his eyes, and more importantly, he was good to talk to, good to sit beside, even good at silence. He was definitely a breath of fresh air, a change from dealing with Garrett and Grant and their ridiculous demands twenty-four hours a day. Clint could easily get used to this, he knew; it wouldn't serve him well if he got too comfortable, because it would all be over way, way too soon.

"If you don't want to marry the princess- or the prince, your choice," Phil said, turning towards him, "then what do you want?"

"I dunno," Clint said, looking down, kicking at a loose stone. "I was hoping I could be like Robin Hood, y'know, rob from the rich, give to the poor kinda thing."

Phil frowned. "That's not a very stable life plan."

"Maybe Jack the Giant Killer?" Clint offered.

"What giants have you seen around here?" Phil asked skeptically.

"And granting wishes is a better long term goal?" Clint challenged.

"I had to work very hard to be a Fairy Godmother," Phil said. "I tried for this position for fifty years straight, but when you're in, you're in for good."

"How old are you?" Clint asked suspiciously.

"Old enough to know better, still too young to care," Phil said, and Clint snorted.

"What do Fairy Godmothers do for fun?" Clint asked, looking Phil up and down.

Phil eyed him. "What's the chance that if I ask you what you do for fun, you're going to say Fairy Godmothers?"

"Being a smartass is way less satisfying when people beat you to the punch," Clint grumbled.

"My apologies," Phil said. He was about to say something else, but then there was that choir sound again. Phil rolled his eyes, apparently unfazed by the young woman who materialized at the end of the wall.

"Hey, FG, we've been waiting at this ball for, like, two hours," she said. "Is the target coming or not?"

"I'm working on it, Skye," Phil said, sounding deeply unamused.

"Uh huh," Skye said, looking at the two of them. "Is this gonna end with us turning back time again?"

"Again?" Clint said, alarmed.

"It might," Phil hedged.

Skye checked Clint out; she seemed to approve of what she saw. "Tell you what," Skye said. "I'll just catch up with you at midnight."

"Thank you," Phil said as she waved her wand, disappearing in a swirl of sparkles.

"Does that lead to as many incredibly awkward situations as it seems like it could?" Clint asked.

"Usually I'm the one making it awkward," Phil admitted. "I've never really, uh-"

"Tried to put the moves on a mortal during work hours?" Clint supplied.

"Hey, _you_ were trying to put the moves on _me_ ," Phil said.

"Yeah, I was," Clint said. "Was it working?"

"Fairly well," Phil said.

"Just fairly?" Clint said, advancing on him.

"Maybe a little more than fair," Phil allowed, making no attempt to move away.

"I can work with that," Clint said, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips against Phil's. Phil opened up for him eagerly, wrapping his arms around Clint's waist and holding him close.

Sure beat the hell out of the king's balls.

\--

Phil stood up, brushing off his robes, while Clint untangled his shirt from the bush he'd very intelligently thrown it into. "Hold still," Phil said, reaching over and plucking a twig out of Clint's hair.

"Thanks," Clint said, running his hand through his hair in case there was anything else stuck in there.

Phil produced an hourglass from his sleeve. He sighed. "Eleven-fifty," he said.

"Pretty good couple hours," Clint said, grinning.

"Ten more minutes," Phil said. He gave Clint a searching look. "What do you _really_ want?" Clint opened his mouth to speak, but Phil went on. "Don't make a smartass remark or include me in this response."

Clint made himself stop and actually think about it, despite the fact that he'd always known the answer. He took a deep breath. "I want to leave."

Phil looked at him for a moment. "I'm not a hundred percent sure I'm allowed to do this," he said. He took out his wand, walking through the ruins, and Clint followed him, curious. He stopped suddenly, his wand pointing down at a patch of dirt. Phil waved the wand, and the dirt peeled back, revealing something that sparkled.

Clint stared down. "You said no currency," he said, not sure what else to say.

"Didn't make it," Phil said. "Only dug it up. What're they gonna do, put the dirt back?"

"But I can't," Clint said, though it hurt him all the way to his core. "I have to go back, I-"

Phil held up a hand, putting it to his ear. After a moment Clint heard a bark, and not a minute later, there were familiar hooves and paws trotting up the trail to the ruins.

"So, um," Clint said, completely lost, not sure how to deal with seeing everything he'd wanted, everything he'd needed so much, all of it just _there_ , real, not a dream anymore. "So that's it? I just- just like that?"

"I told you I'd make your dreams come true," Phil said, sounding mildly offended. "You didn't believe me?"

"Would you?" Clint said, and Phil shrugged. "Wow, um." He suddenly came back to himself, reaching down and stuffing his pockets with the forgotten gold. "Wow, thank you."

"All in a day's work," Phil said, waving his hand. He sighed. "But time's up. That's about all I can do for you."

"Can I see you again?" Clint asked hesitantly. "I mean, after I-" he gestured with the gold in his hands- "y'know, after I buy like half of everything and have someone burn Garrett's castle down and make it look like an accident?"

Phil shrugged playfully. "I make dreams come true," he said. "Dream big."

Clint grinned widely, leaning over and kissing him soundly. Phil smiled at him fondly, stepping back; he gave Clint a wink before waving his wand and vanishing.

Major picked his way through the ruins, nudging Clint with his nose. "I know, right?" Clint said, his voice thick. "C'mon." He swung up onto Major's back, even though he didn't have so much as a blanket. Fuck it, he could buy a thousand saddles now; he could make Major look like a show horse, just because he goddamn well wanted to. That thought was dizzying, only adding to the daze in his head, the effervescent feeling, the way he felt like he was going to explode into nothing but light. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

Lucky barked in excitement, running behind them as they set off through the forest.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Well, except for Garrett and Grant.

Everybody _else_ lived happily ever after.


End file.
